Deeper Dungeons
by Besina
Summary: Snape finds himself in quite a bind. Shameless PWP. Warnings: Dub Con, BDSM themes, anal penetration.


Deeper Dungeons  
>Written by Besina, February 2012<br>Rated: M  
>Characters: Severus, OC<br>Story Type: Shameless PWP  
>Warnings: Dub Con, BDSM themes, anal penetration<p>

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of the Harry Potter world and mean no copyright infringement by bringing them out to play, nor do I make any money by writing this fanfic.

A/N: This is not my usual fare, and was written specifically for a friend. However, please do let me know if you enjoy it. Thanks. :)

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><p>They were somewhere in the dungeons; deep dungeons by the feel of the uneven stone beneath his feet and the musty, stale smell of the air. His hands were shackled high above him, the metal pressing into his skin, the clank of heavy chain whenever he tried to move. His body was stretched taut, ankles shackled to the ground, with no room for any give, about two feet from one another.<p>

He hadn't the least idea how he'd gotten here; if he was alone or if someone was quietly watching. It was black as pitch in the dungeons, not that he could tell – a blindfold had been tied tightly over his eyes. He shivered, thankful of the many layers of clothing he wore. His mark did not sting or burn, but he could think of no other person capable of rendering him so helpless. His wand, of course, was gone.

He waited for many long minutes in absolute silence, his mind casting about the room. He did seem to sense a presence, but whoever it was, be it their distance from him, their own abilities in occlumency, or simply the distracting nature of his predicament; he was unable to read them.

Apparently, they had sensed him too and, no longer content to sit and watch undiscovered, the sound of soft feet padding over the rough rock made it to his ears. There was nothing else to hear, save the occasional drip of water. Nervousness built up in him, and he cleared his throat to banish the lump that was growing there.

A moment later and he smelled the dusty smoke of an old torch flickering to life. A few seconds later brought the sound of a second being lit on the other side of the room; a large one to gauge by the echo.

"My Lord," he finally managed, without sounding too frantic. "I don't know what I have done, but …"

_I am not your lord_, came a voice in his head. He was unable to tell for certain, but it seemed feminine.

"Who? Who are you then?" his voice quavered a little, not the least amount due to relief that it was not Voldemort whom he'd apparently displeased. The thought did race through his mind however, that while the Dark Lord would not kill him while he was still seen as useful and loyal, many other people certainly would.

_An interested party._

"Interested in?"

_Shhh. Voices are so mundane. Just think to me._

Lovely. This made occlumency all the more difficult, thinking without thinking. He groaned aloud.

_Yes, it does, doesn't it?_ The voice lit in his head again. _Then again, I do find your groans delightful; I think you should be allowed to continue to voice those, hm?_

Snape opened his mouth to reply, but found himself unable to speak. Hexed? Probably. Experimentally, he let out another groan – that gave him no trouble.

_Ooh, I see we are learning quickly. Yes, no voice unless you are groaning, moaning or screaming in pain or pleasure, we shall see which. _

_By the way, you look lovely like that. All stretched out and … vulnerable. I've stared at you for some time, before you came 'round, drinking it in. Absolutely lovely. But now? I'm getting a bit bored._ If a voice in one's head could pout, this one did.

_Pity I didn't think to remove these before I hung you up there, but we will have to make do._

With that he felt his robes fly back behind him as far as they would go, flapping, as if he were standing in a high wind, though no air flowed in the room.

_I'd rip it off you, but it's so utterly __**you**__; 'twould be a pity. Still, that's out of the way enough, isn't it?_

Snape bowed his head, trying hard not to think, yet still trying to come up with an escape plan; something nearly impossible to do since she was managing to read his every thought. Occlumency was wonderful if you didn't want someone to read your passive thoughts, damn near impossible if you were actively plotting. When Voldemort read him, he blanked his mind, became docile, and just shielded the part of his mind which held memories that were traitorous to the cause. If he'd actively been thinking of stabbing Voldemort in the heart, well, that didn't bear thinking about.

_Escape? Yes, that will be difficult. I am in here, you know. _He felt, though he didn't know how she managed it, a small tap on the inside of his skull.

_Oh, no, don't fret. I've nothing to do with Voldemort and have little care what you do to him._

There was silence for a minute, both inside his head and within the dungeon. He sensed, more than felt, someone hovering near him, warm breath near his cheek, his neck, in front of him. It lingered there for a moment. He could smell a faint odor, not unpleasant, relaxing, reminding him of…

His thoughts were cut short by the pressing of soft, warm lips against his own. No body pressed against his, just those lips. He wondered if she was extremely tall, disembodied or somehow levitating. It felt oddly good, but he refused to kiss back. At least kissing was a far less grim fate than he had previously imagined for himself.

_No? c_ame the voice. _I must say I'm hurt. Maybe once you get to know me better, yes? _He had no idea why, but he found himself silently nodding, chains jingling softly at the movement.

_Good! That's better. _ The voice sounded much happier. Perhaps that was for the best.

Suddenly he felt a button on his frock coat come undone and literally fly across the room; its impact on the opposite wall startling him. The sound of merry chuckling filled his head. A second, then a third followed in its wake. He still felt no fingers unfastening them, no touch at all – they seemed to be coming undone and forcefully flinging themselves across the room of their own volition.

His cape still fluttered out windlessly behind him. His chest began to register the coldness of the room as button after button of his coat flew across the expanse to ricochet off the walls.

_You and your buttons, _the voice teased, _you do know they make you just __**that **__much more appealing, don't you? _

He shook his head, embarrassed.

_Oh you silly boy, she _teased again, as the last button of his coat came undone. The same non-wind at work on his cloak now pushed the coat open, revealing the crisp white shirt beneath.

His arms began to ache and he shifted uncomfortably. She must have been getting impatient because suddenly every single one of the buttons on his shirt fell to the floor at once, shirt flying open to reveal his wiry but toned expanse of chest. Goosebumps rose along his skin, due both to the chill in the air, as well as an unbidden pleasure at being so exposed and helpless. He wondered if she could tell, certainly hoped not; she hadn't said anything, so perhaps not.

Now the buttons on his pants began pinging around the room. Only six of those. Six, and he'd be at her mercy. What was he thinking? He already was at her mercy. He felt his trousers fall limply around his calves.

_No pants? Naughty boy._

He was half hard, no way to disguise that now. He thought of the most disgusting experiments he could summon from his memory, but they did little to help.

_See? I knew you'd like this. You punish yourself so much; you never take time for pleasure. You never stop thinking long enough either. Of course you'd feel you ought to be chained, uncomfortable, out of control, forced, if you're ever to feel good. You wouldn't allow yourself otherwise._

_I'm good with that._ The voice held a tinge of mischief in it.

_Of course, it wouldn't matter much if you didn't feel that way; I'd still do this, and you'd still like it. That's just the icing, shall we say._

He felt a whisper of fingertips trail down his chest and abdomen, his cock bobbing a little at the stimulation. He mentally berated himself for allowing himself to lose any control, and fought to bring his body back to heel.

He caught the whiff of that scent again, moments before those lips pressed against his once more. They drew him in. They were so warm, so soft, exquisite. He wanted so badly to kiss back. He fought not to let his head swim. Their lips broke contact.

_There was a sigh of disappointment._

_Well then, we've talked about how rough you are on yourself, shall we now discuss how hard you are on your instruments?_

Instruments? His mind wandered over everything in his potions lab. Of course potions could be hard on the kettles; enough of them had been blown up by his first-years to prove that. And the ingredients themselves certainly didn't have an easy time of it, but that's part-and-parcel of …

_Pshaw. Not potions, Severus. Your most necessary of instruments – your wand, of course. Have you seen it lately? It's a disgrace. You've not taken good care of it. You've used it, quite intensely, for years now. It's scuffed, polish worn off. You hardly take any notice of it at all. I think we should remedy that._

He felt a small point of pressure push against his lips.

_Open, Severus._

His lips parted a little. He felt a cool, narrow shaft of wood slide between his lips, into his mouth. He could taste the wood on his tongue.

_Suck, Severus._

Suck? What in the world?

_Yes, suck, Severus. I want you to fellate your wand. Apologize for using it with such blatant disregard._

Apologize? It's just a wand!

_Yes, perhaps it is. And I do doubt it has any feelings whatsoever, but I still want to see you suck it._

The wand was shoved a little more insistently between his lips, then pulled back, just to be pushed back in.

_Relax, just enjoy the sensation. It will go much more smoothly if you do._

It was odd, certainly, and this thing, this woman, was surely out of her mind, but, really, it wasn't all that bad. So she had something of an oral fixation. Could be worse.

He allowed his lips to part a little further, sliding them along the length of the wood. She held it still, making him move what little he could to glide his head back and forth over its length. Her faint scent washed over him again. He felt his concentration waver, focusing more on the task at hand. He stopped momentarily, trying to re-gather his thoughts, but found it harder and harder to focus. His mind was beginning to blank, and he sank back to work on the order he'd been given, he even began to find it pleasing, working at it with renewed vigor.

_That's my boy,_ purred the voice in his ear.

As his lips parted and slicked along the length further and further, he felt sure it was getting thicker. He pushed that little thought to the back of his mind. And, revamping his efforts, he began to take it further into his mouth as it continued to thicken under his ministrations. Soon a moan escaped his lips. Who would have thought that fellating anything, especially something that now so considerably felt like a penis, would be so captivating?

She removed the now-swollen wand from his mouth, with a little whimper of protest on his part.

_Much better._ She sounded pleased.

Then her lips captured his once again. This time there was no resistance as he moaned into it, leaning forward toward her, pulling on his chains, yearning to return it with all the desire he felt mounting in his body, his breathing becoming hot and rapid, if somewhat labored due to the stress he now put on his chest, straining toward her. A tiny part of his brain objected, but so small he easily ignored it. He needed this; he needed more. Tiny beads of sweat broke out on his forehead as he pulled toward her, leaning as far as his bonds would allow, and then some. Her mouth gently opening his as their kiss deepened, their tongues twining together.

For the first time, he actually felt her touch, not just whisper of a caress, but a warm hand against his cheek, holding him as they kissed.

She broke away once again, his head lolled forward, breathing hard, hanging limply from his shackles.

His head shot backward groaning, as she began placing blistering kisses along his jawline, down his neck, sucking slightly, until he moaned again; dropping down to run her hands over his exposed flesh, marking it with kisses as and light scratches as she continued down over his chest and abdomen.

His cock stood to strict attention, practically begging for consideration. He found it impossible to form words, even in his mind, but the flashes of desire seemed to get through to her, and while she kissed around his navel he heard her reassurance: _Don't worry, we'll get there._

_But first, I think you deserve some punishment, don't you?_

He panted, nodding. Yes, please, he thought.

She smiled indulgently and moved to his side, pulling and tucking his clothes even further back out of the way, the imperceptible wind still doing its dual part to blow back the clothing and make him look extremely desirable in doing so. _Head up!_

He raised his head obediently, just as the first crack of the flogger crossed his skin. A flush swam up his neck and cheeks just before his mouth gaped open with a slightly pained but satisfied "Oh!" escaping his lips.

She landed several more in quick succession, drawing further moans of anguish mixed with pleasure from him. Satisfied that his pain threshold had heightened, she switched to a crop, criss-crossing his chest, stomach and thighs with bright patterns of red; his breaths drawn in sharply, exhaled slowly, as his entire body quivered.

His head lolling back in more in serene surrender than simple obeyance, she slowed, then stopped the blows. Dropping the crop by her side, she ran her fingers delicately over the marks she made, his body shuddering, breath hitching at each touch. When she began placing her lips on each one, it was all he could do not to convulse in his restraints, his cock straining skyward.

_Let's see what else you're willing to do for me, shall we?_

He nodded limply, his mind in another place, body overloaded by sensation.

_Good._ There was a smile in that word.

He felt her reach upward between his legs, and felt something familiar press against his opening. The wand… he'd forgotten about the wand. Still engorged it would seem. She was going to fuck him with it. Another part of his mind jumped to object, but the rest was so totally gone, blissed out, he didn't mind. He relaxed as she slowly worked it into him, one centimeter at a time. It seemed to take forever and he groaned at each further entrance it gained, until it filled him completely.

_I'm sure in your day, you've given quite a good fuck, but I very much doubt you've ever received one in return. Consider this your present._

She removed her hands from the wand, now an ersatz dildo, and began running them up and down the insides of his thighs. Strangely, he felt the engorged wand begin to move slightly inside him, gently, and apparently of its own accord. Slowly at first, then drawing back more and thrusting little by little, until he was acclimatized to it. Soon it began to pick up speed, occasionally brushing up against his prostrate garnering a nearly unearthly moan from him.

He was here, strung up by his wrists, pinned open at his ankles, helpless, effectively blind, stripped and vulnerable, unable to stop any of the attentions lavished upon him, being forced to submit to things he would be loathe to admit he enjoyed, while being fucked senseless by his own wand! Oh gods, what a day this was! It made no sense whatsoever, but he knew he never wanted it to stop.

Suddenly, he felt her hot breath against his straining member. Just breath. She was teasing him, but it felt delightful. She blew on his cock, his balls. "Oh gods..," he groaned as she flicked just the tip of her tongue over the top of his cock, just as the wand pressed against his prostate once again. Then her hot mouth plunged down his length, taking it deeply, teasing up and plunging down again, running her tongue around the tip before beginning again. His balls began to tighten. She quickly popped her mouth off of him.

_No. Not yet, not like that._

He growled at the sudden departure of sensation, and felt a sudden smack of reprisal on his arse, as he did so.

_Be patient. If I let out that beast inside you, I want to feel every single second of it._

He heard something large being scraped across the floor. The side of a sturdy table pressed up against his thighs, straightening him somewhat from relying on his shackles for support, pushing him back into a standing position.

He felt her heat against him once more. She was in front of him, laying on the table, spread open for him. He felt her legs wrap around his waist pulling him against her, one hand positioning his cock just so. She flexed her legs once more, and he felt himself being pulled into her. It was hot, tight ... wonderful.

He found himself almost instinctively bucking against her, driving in deep, nearly unaware of anything else. Chains jingling nonstop as he thrust again and again, growling animalisticly; uncontrollably picking up the pace. Sweat slicked his body as he thrust forward time after time, straining and pulling against his tethers, to plow as deeply into her as possible. He felt like a man possessed. Perhaps he was? He didn't care much one way or the other. He was going to rut her into next week, next year if at all possible.

She shuddered and arched her back beneath him, crying out in delight as he continued his assault. He felt her clench around him, an electric jolt shooting down his spine, coiling in his stomach and erupting through him. He felt as if his insides ruptured as one orgasm after another was pulled from him, shooting into her, as her legs held tight around him, anchoring herself further onto his quivering cock. He stood there, shaking for a few minutes before she pulled off of him, dismounted and pushed the table back.

He only heard:_ That was fabulous, _before he blacked out.

When he came to, he was alone. The blindfold had been removed; the small stubs of the torches that remained guttered in their holders. He was chilled. His arms were numb. He looked up at his shackles with no little amount of surprise; they weren't locked. They were the type that hinged up and down, push up, they swing apart, pull down and you're effectively immobilized. He very carefully lifted one arm, a burning sensation filling it as blood rushed up to the demanding muscles. The shackles parted and he very slowly withdrew his hand, letting it drop to his side and shaking the life back into it before he gingerly helped his other wrist free.

He looked down to see himself still exposed; his body covered in shallow scratches and lovely pink welt marks. His buttons, however, were still attached. And no wind, palpable or otherwise, was making any of his clothing flutter dramatically. Curiously, he pulled his shirt back up over his shoulders, buttoning it closed.

His back ached as he leaned down to pull up his trousers, noticing this time that not only were these not locked, but the chain which had held them to the floor was rusted almost entirely away. He didn't quite trust his eyes, knowing how much he had pulled and strained against them. He quickly dislodged them from around his ankles, pulled up and buttoned his trousers once more.

He pulled his frock coat closed and buttoned it carefully, still looking cautiously around in the flickering light of the room, then shrugged his cape back onto his shoulders. He bent down gingerly once more to retrieve one of the shackles from the floor, turned it over, examining it, then tucking it into his pocket, a small smile of recollection flickering across his lips. No one would think it extraordinary for Snape to use a rusted shackle as a paperweight.

As he withdrew his hand, he felt the smooth wood of his wand brush against him, also nestled in his pocket. He pulled it out and inspected it: everything seemed as it should be, it was clean, somewhat scuffed, and certainly not engorged. He gingerly placed it back in his coat pocket.

As the last bit of the torches flickered and gave out, he saw a distant and faint patch of light. He slowly made his way toward it, stepping carefully in the darkness, making his way up an incredibly old and steep stairwell, severely overgrown with knotted tree roots. Not knowing where he would emerge, he fixed his trademark scowl upon his face.

He came up into a field of wild flowers, somewhat stymied as the last time he'd been outside, everything had been covered in a light dusting of frost. Here, it seemed the blooms had come out overnight. He looked about, trying to get his bearings. The field was ensconced in trees on every side; however one set was distinctly thicker than the others and gave off a faint air of menace. He smirked to himself. Home wasn't all that distant if this was the far edge of the forbidden forest. Nevertheless, it was wiser to bypass the forest if possible. With a flourish, he wrapped his cloak about him and disapparated to just outside the Hogwarts gates.

Pushing them open, he strode onto the grounds. Everything smelled fresh: damp earth; warm breezes; new life, as buds and shoots began to sprout.

Suddenly, he stopped, rooted to the spot. His brain swam. This was it; this was her scent – that captivating aroma. He slowly turned in a circle, drinking it all in. Dumbledore strode briskly past him, seemingly enjoying the mild weather, slapping the rather befuddled Snape on the back and commenting, "Wonderful day for a walk, isn't it Severus? And just on the first day of Spring! How fortuitous!" He continued jauntily by, leaving Severus in a mildly dazed state.

He wandered through the grounds, eventually returning to his quarters. A fresh spring breeze seemed to have wafted in; odd as one only ever got stale air in the dungeons. Turning to lay down on his bed, he spied a note, written in a delicate hand. "_Thank you, Severus! That was the most fun I've had in years! See you at the end of next Winter?"_

Gaping, Snape slowly sank down onto his bed, an amused smile flickering over his face before he slowly passed out.


End file.
